in for a ruble

7/31/2019 In for a Ruble

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This is a work of ction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in

this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used ctitiously.

.

An imprint of St. Martins Press.

. Copyright 2012 by David Duffy. All rights reserved. Printed in

the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth

Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 978-0-312-62191-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-01244-9 (e-book)

First Edition: July 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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chapter 1

Everything about Sebastian Leitz was big. The man himself was six foot

four and weighed two-eighty easy. A tractor tire wrapped his midsection, he

wore size fourteen shoes, and nobody made gloves to t his hands. The out-

size head, with its fat pear nose, kidney-pool blue eyes and inated inner-tube

lips, made him seem larger still. The head was topped by a bushy, orange Afro

that had last seen the barber when Brezhnev was general secretary of the

Communist Party of the Soviet Union. A circus clown on steroids. His

voicea foghorn basscouldve lled a big top.

Leitz needed the big head to hold the brain. Hed earned two doctorates,

mathematics and economics, from Harvard and MIT. Hed written count-

less papers and a half dozen books. He was a full professor at Columbia by

twenty-six. People were talking Nobel Prize by thirty. That was before he

quit academics and went to Wall Street to make big money.

Leitz was worth several billion, and hed made it all himselfin little

more than a decade. His hedge funds regularly ranked high on the perfor-mance charts, and Leitz himself consistently topped the compensation tables.

He had a blowback laugh and a blow-up temper. Both blew with the

force of a saboteurs bombunseen, unexpected, until they knocked every-

body in range off their feet. As I came to nd out, not everyone got back up.

He had strong opinions and was willing to state them loudly and longly

if he thought there was reason to do so. Otherwise he didnt waste breath.

He ignored anyone he pegged as foolish or stupid. He didnt give a damn

what they thought of him.Leitz had a big penchant for secrecy. No one at his rm (other than him-

self, of course) was allowed to take anything home from the ofce. An idle

comment in the elevator, if it involved the companys business, was a ring


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offense. He hated losingbig time. He was known to throw whatever was

in reach at whomever put him on the wrong end of a trade. When I met

him, he was working on the biggest deal of his lifebuying and merging

two of Americas TV networks, thereby taking hold of a big chunk of the

media landscape. His bid had dominated the nancial press and the tabloidsfor weeks.

Leitz was a force of natureone of those people God or whoever is in

charge put here from time to time to shake things up, make life interesting.

I suppose, despite everything, thats why I liked him. But all the size and

smarts, money and privilege in the world are no guarantee you wont fuck it up.


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chapter 2

I didnt know any of this the rst time we met. I didnt know much beyond

what the press told me about his TV bid

and his wealth. The New York papers were

more forthcoming than Leitzs friend and my partner, Foster Klaus Helix,

known as Foos, who arranged the meeting.

How successful is he? I asked.

Leitz does okay, Foos said.

Whats okay?

Pretty good.

S&P was up twelve percent last year. He do better than that?

Some.

How much some?

Enough.

Hes a quantitative hedge fund manager, whys he trying to buy TV net-

works?Thinks hell make money.

Their current owners think they dont make enough money. Whats Leitz

going to do different?

Make more money.

I let it go. I didnt really want the meeting. I didnt want the client. Leitz

sounded like a bigger, richer, more opinionated pain in the ass than my last

client, and he and his family turned out to be big trouble. But that was just

an excuse. Truth be told, I didnt feel like doing much of anything, I hadntin months. I was still thinking, unsuccessfully, about the woman whod

turned my life upside down before she walked out of it without even a kiss

good-bye. Shed warned me shed do that, twice, and shed been true to her


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word. I couldnt blame her. Id done my part to show her the door. I hadnt

meant to, Id had no choice. Were all our own best friend and enemy, as one

of our proverbs puts it.

I kept hoping against hope shed change her mind and come back. That

carried me through the rst few weeks. Then I heard shed left her jobahigh-prole appointment as United States Attorney for the Southern Dis-

trict of New York, something shed worked hard to getand blown town.

After two weeks of not wanting to get out bed, I tried to convince Foos to

let me use the Basilisk to nd her. Maybe if I followed wherever shed gone,

pleaded my case, recanted, promised to change, shed see the error of her

ways. I didnt really believe it, but I had to try. Not that it matteredFoos

refused at out.

Whos side are you on? I asked.

What makes you think Im dumb enough to choose sides?

She got to you, didnt she? Before she left. Made you promise not to

help. What was the bribe? Ill double it.

He smiled and went back to banging on his computer keyboard. I dont

know which was worse, the depression or the frustration. I knew the Basilisk

could nd her. That beast can nd anyone. But its master wasnt cooperating.

Dont believe everything you read in the papers, Foos said. I was doing

more research in preparation for our meeting.

I ignored him on the grounds he was making me do my own homework

and I was still pissed off. I told myself Foos was right, I needed something

to occupy my mind. I didnt really believe that either, but the alternatives

for the dayvodka, beer, more vodka and beerworked in his favor.

Even before he strode upon the media stage, Leitz cut a big swath, notthat hard to do in New York if youve got the funds. He donated his way

onto the boards of the Guggenheim Museum, Carnegie Hall and his teach-

ing alma mater, Columbia. He bought expensive pictures at Sothebys and

Christies, often bidding for himself instead of hiding behind a dealer or

auction house functionary. He threw high-prole parties at his East Side

mansion, packed with celebrities who invested in his hedge funds. He wasnt

afraid to tell any reporter whod listen that the government should stay the

hell out of the hedge fund business. He might have been giving second thoughtto some of those comments, since the governmentin the form of the SEC,

FTC, FCC and Department of Justicecould have a lot to say about whether


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he was allowed to pursue the current objects of his desire. Still, not bad for a

second-generation immigrant kid from Austria via Astoria.

Leitz came from a big familya brother and two sisters, four kids in all.

He lived in a double-fronted brick town house on East Sixty-second Street, to

which hed added the brownstones on either side, giving him twelve win-dows across the fronta ton of real estate anywhere, an enormity in Manhat-

tan. I guess he needed room for histwo kids (from two wives), housekeeper,

nanny, and pair of Bernese mountain dogs, which I initially mistook for small

Saint Bernards and was quickly corrected.

Foos had known Leitz before he became rich, when they were both ordi-

nary, working-stiff, academic geniuses. Theyd met at some conference of

eggheads while Foos was at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton

and Leitz at Columbia. Probably struck up a friendship over the lunch

buffetthe two biggest brains and bodies in the room. Both left academics

soon afterward, Leitz to Wall Street and Foos to move modern data mining

forward several decades in as many years.

After Foos sold his company, he gave Leitz some of his fortune to invest

along with a chunk of the assets of the foundation he endowed and runs

STOP, short for Stop Terrorizing Our Privacy. Id read Leitz required a

minimum investment of $5 million and regularly racked up returns north

of 30 percent a year, after fees of 3 percent of assets under management and

the rst 30 percent of prots earned. Fees were another big thing about him.

When I asked Foos about that, I got the usual, Leitz does okay.

I gave up. I checked STOPs records, which Im entitled to do since Im

the other member of the board, although Foos neglects to send me nancial

reportsor any other reports for that matter. I dont know how much of

STOPs money Leitz invested, since the assets could be spread among mul-

tiple managers. STOPs most recent tax return, which I downloaded fromthe Internet, showed total assets of $208 million. It started with $50 million

ve years ago. The markets had tanked in the interim. Leitz indeed ap-

peared to be doing okay.

On our way uptown, I again pressed Foos about his friend.

What happened to the rst Mrs. Leitz?

Bad scene.

You know her?

A little.How bad?

The worst.


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And wife number two?

Jenny. Shes cute. Smart too.

Bad? Cute? Smart? Care to add a little color?

Not my business.

He looked out the window, and we rode in silence the rest of the way. Inthe twenty years Id spent with the KGB, Id never heard of anyone standing

up against a full-bore Cheka interrogation. Given the chance, Foos couldve

been the rst.

Someone had left thePoston the cabs backseat.

, the headline read. The story cited Wall Street sources, all un-

named, stating that several consortia, involving everyone from Warren Buffet

to Bill Gates to a couple of Chinese billionaires, were in the process of putting

together offers to rival Leitzs. Wall Street was in full M&Amerger and

acquisitionfrenzy. The fees alone were expected to run into the hundreds

of millions. The ensuing battle could last months.

Normally, Im as caught up as the next guy in stories like this one, events

that promise change and upheaval in the landscapeeconomic, social and

culturalof my adopted country. My natural curiosity (a character trait Ive

never tried hard to tame) would be working overtime at the prospect of

meeting the man whod set it in motion. But today as I read the story, noted

the names, registered the humongous amounts of cash involved, I felt no

spark. Whatever Leitz wanted didnt matter much. He might occupy my time,

perhaps a bit of my attention, for a day, a week or a month, but he and his

bidding war wouldnt do a damned thing to alter the fucked-up mess that

had become my life.

At the corner of Madison and Sixty-second, Foos paid the driver. We

walked half a block east. The morning was bright and crisp, not too cold for

the second week of January. The remnants of a New Years storm lined thesidewalks, mostly frozen slush now, covered with a coat of city grime, nothing

compared with the three feet of black encrusted snow Id left in Moscow

back before Christmas.

Leitzs spread was almost precisely midblock, on the north side of the

street. A handsome six-story brick house at the center, with cream-colored

trim. Half the faade was at-fronted, half formed a graceful bay, as if the

architect had tried to make one house look like two. Avoiding ostentation

perhaps. The rest of the expanded mansion comprised two traditional NewYork brownstones on either side. Foos pushed a brass button by the black

door, and a Filipina answered. She smiled hello, ushered us inside, and of-

fered to take our coats.


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We stood in a stone-oored, chandeliered entrance hall that occupied the

full width and half the depth of the double brick house. An elliptical stair-

case swirled upward at the center. The hall was hung as a portrait gallery

nineteenth century European, maybe a few American, paintings covered three

of four walls. One picture caught my eye, a handsome, bearded man in his latethirties. I went over for a closer look. It was what I thoughta self-portrait by

Ilya Repin, probably painted in the 1880s. Id seen one like it at the Tretyakov

in Moscow. The Met has a couple of Repins works, but theyre hard to nd

outside Russia. Leitz was becoming a little more interesting.

Foos came up beside me. Nice picture.

Weve got some good painters. Hes one.

Not surprised. Leitz knows his stuff.

Please, gentlemen, upstairs. Mr. Sebastian waits. The maid stood by the

staircase pointing. We followed her direction.

Carpeted wood steps, painted balusters and a smooth mahogany banister

climbed all six stories. On the second oor, two sets of double doors opened

off the central hall into a high-ceilinged, paneled room in the front. I got off

to take a look. It ran the width of the brick housesix windowswith a

marble replace at each end. The furniture was a mixture of English and

French antiques. A Picasso cubist still life hung over one replace in rened

revolutionary conversation with a Braque over the other. Matisse, Czanne

and Manet graced the other walls.

One more ight, boys, the inner sanctum, a loud voice called, and I

returned to the stairs to see a large head of curly reddish-blond hair opping

over the railing from above. Foos was already halfway up. I followed, regret-

ting not being able to spend more time with the paintings in the drawing

room. But I didnt know what was to come.

On the third oor, off the stairs, I came face-to-face with a huge Rothkocolor eldblue and red and purple. The closeness and intensity took me

aback, until I realized that beside me was another one of the same size

yellow, orange, and red. I turned slowly around the hall. There were four of

them, one for each wall, and the impact was overwhelming, a whirling co-

coon of color, too close and too bright, and much too deep, to take in all

at once.

Foos passed through unaffected. Hed been here before. I spun in my

spot, trying to establish myself and get some perspective. It wasnt possible.Three-dimensional hypnosis. I had to ght to break the spell and pull my

eyes from the color, innite in its intensity. I turned to the red-haired man

in the doorway.


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He was smiling. People say its over the top, but I like a real kick in the

ass.

You got that, all right, I said, extending my hand, head still spinning

His paw enveloped mine in a tight grip. Sebastian Leitz. Come in.

This room was as big as the one on the oor below, also paneled, but inblond wood with clean, contemporary lines. Fireplaces at both ends again,

but these had simple, limestone mantels with no frills or decoration. Wood

res burned in both. The paintings were contemporary tooFranz Kline

held down one end, Robert Motherwell the other, two more heavyweights

thrashing out their own generation of abstraction. But it was the top right

corner, above the desk, that caught my eye. A smallish canvas, compared with

the others, eighteen inches by three feet, highlighted by a single spot. A col-

lection of blue, yellow, red, green, and brown rectangles oating on a white

background.

I remembered the paintingand where Id rst seen it. Kasimir Malev-

ich,Suprematist Composition,painted in 1916. Id gone to look at it at Sothe-

bys a few years ago, right before it sold for $80 million. I raised an eyebrow

at the buyer. He nodded.

Not many people get that. But youre Russian, right? Not Black Square,

but the best I could do.

You did well. Its . . . You know as well as I dowords are hard to

come by.

For my money, Malevich is the greatest of Russian painters, one of the

greatest of all painters, and along with Kandinsky, perhaps, the rst real

abstractionist anywhere. Leitz had placed the picture in the traditional posi-

tion of an icon in a Russian house, just as Malevich himself had done with

his most famous painting, Black Square,when he showed it for the rst time

in 1915, declaring, none too subtly, a thousand years of representationalpainting pass.

Thank you. Its my favorite picture.

I like the Repin downstairs too.

He gave me a look that indicated Id passed some kind of test. Youre

the rst to recognize that. Come sit by the re.

Leitz led the way to a group of black leather Le Corbusier club chairs

under the Motherwell. Foos lounged in one. At the other end of the room,

under Klines big, brutal, black brushstrokes, two at screens sat on a deskand a row of monitors were embedded in the paneled wall. They ickered with

red and green and blue, too far away to see the actual numbers.

Foos poured himself a cup of coffee from a chrome thermos without


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waiting to be asked and lifted an eyebrow at me. I shook my head. Leitz al-

ready had a cup in front of him.

I looked from one to the other while I waited to see who would speak

rst. Since I was a guest, and wasnt sure I even wanted to be here, I had no

reason to get the ball rolling.Leitz was wearing an XXL cashmere sweater, dark green, suede patches

on the elbows, over a gray T-shirt, along with baggy brown corduroys that

hadnt seen an iron or press in weeks. His shoes stood out. Elegant, dark brown

wingtips, English or Italian, I couldnt tell which, well worn but freshly shined

and in great shape. Foos was dressed as Foos always dressesblack sweater,

black jeans, black boots. His mane of black curly hair was a little frizzed in

the cold air and showing a bit of gray. Hed had a few inches trimmed for the

New Year, one of his few concessions to the calendar, but it still hung thickly

well past his shoulders. His black eyes looked at me from behind black,

chunky glasses. His big pointed nose ran left to right from my position, and

since his mouth opens mostly on the right side, it makes his whole face lop-

sided. He was as tall as Leitz and a few pounds lighter. Leitzs weight settled

around his middle, while Fooss hung evenly from his shoulders, which Ive

never understood since Ive never seen him do anything remotely resembling

exercise.

I was wearing my winter uniformblack turtleneck and dark gray annel

trousers. Id handed in my black leather jacket downstairs. I had a comfort-

able pair of English-made loafers on my feet that probably cost less than

Leitzs socks. In the spring I trade the turtleneck for a T-shirt, the leather

and annel for linen, and I dont have to worry about what to put on for

another six months. The injuries Id suffered last Junesome at the hands

of my old friend and nemesis, Lachko Barsukov, some at my ownhad healed,

and Id worked myself back into pretty good shape, despite too much vodkaand beer. I was showing no ab on my six-foot, two-hundred pound frame.

Since Victoria left, no one was around to complain if I was carrying extra

weight, but staying in shape is a vanity like any otherand one of mine, the

result of a half-starved youth when making it through the day was no better

than a fty-fty bet. Victoria said she liked my brown eyesthey had a

curious sparklestraight-ahead nose and squared-off triangle of a chin. My

hair, once bushy and black, had thinned to the point of a sixty-year-old by

my late twenties, in my mind the result of the same youthful malnourish-ment. Id shaved my scalp and kept it that way. Today, it was probably

showing some red from the cold air outside. I hadnt worn a hat.

Nobody said anything for several minutes, an unusual occurrence in


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Americaor anywhere. Leitz looked at me, I looked at the paintings. Foos

might have taken a cat nap. Three men, content to take silent stock. Nine

times out of tenninety-nine times out of a hundredsomeone has to ll

the void. Not today. Im used to this treatment from Fooswe can go days

without much more than grunting at each otherbut Leitz intrigued meby saying nothing. When he was ready, he broke the silence.

Thank you for coming to visit. Foos told me a little of your background.

Youve had an interesting life.

Sounds like hes told you more than hes told me. I smiled to show I

meant no offense. Leitz smiled back.

I require all of my clients to sign condentiality agreements which my

lawyers drafted expressly to prohibit people from talking about me or my

business. Foos is one of the few who abides by his word.

With him, you didnt need the agreement.

Leitz chuckled. I told my lawyers the same thing.

Foos said, You guys going to talk business or shall I go hang with Jenny

while you get acquainted?

Patient too, Leitz said. How much do you really know about me, Mr.

Vlost?

Call me Turbo. Only what I read in the papers, which Foos tells me not

to believe.

Leitz chuckled again.

I took the bait, maybe because the pictures had me interested. You run

a hedge fund, a family of funds, actually, with assets of some twenty billion.

Youre very successful. So successful that a few years ago, you returned half

the money you manage to your clients, whether they wanted it back or not.

You said you couldnt keep earning the kind of returns you and they were

used to. Im guessing that also meant you couldnt keep charging the feesyou and they were used to, which are supposed to be the highest in the in-

dustry.

He nodded but said nothing.

That pissed a bunch of them off, which must be a peculiarly American

ironywealthy people getting angry because someone gave them their money

back.

He smiled and nodded again. So far, youre very well informed.


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